Saturday, December 27, 2014

“As I look Into The Faces Of The Loved Ones Left Behind”

Ceremonial flag presented to widow of slain NYPD officer Rafael Ramos

FULL TRANSCRIPT OF
NEW YORK CITY POLICE COMMISSIONER’S EULOGY FOR OFFICER RAFAEL RAMOS

Every time I attend a
cop's funeral, I pray that it will be the last.
But I know it won't. As I watch
the casket carried past all those salutes, I wish it weren't real. But it is.
And as I look into the faces of the loved ones left behind—whose worst
fear has been so suddenly realized—I silently hope, "never again." But here we are.

My first police
funeral was 44 years ago. On
September 24, 1970, Boston Police Department Patrolman Walter Schroeder was
ambushed by a violent group of anti-war extremists, shot in the back as he
responded to a bank holdup.

In 1970 Boston, like
America, was a tumultuous place: protests for civil rights, anti-war
demonstrations, anti-government
demonstrations; anti-police demonstrations. Divisive politics polarized the city and the
country.

Maybe that sounds
familiar. The murder of Officer
Schroeder shook the foundations of City Hall and the Boston Police Department. It sowed doubt and fear among officers and
citizens alike.We mourned, we vowed never to forget, and we
moved forward. And here we are. Here we are to celebrate the life of Police Officer
Rafael Ramos, and to honor him. To memorialize the sacrifice he made with his
partner that day—with his partner for all time—Officer Wenjian Liu.

Here we are to
remember. We remember what it means to
take "the Job." No other
profession will give you as much, or sometimes, take as much. The job can reward you like no other, but one
day it might demand from you everything in return. For the Ramos family today is that day. And
here we are.

We're in a city
struggling to define itself, where people are searching for what they stand for
and why, where people claim to know best what it's like to be everybody else. But we know who we are, because we know who
Rafael Ramos was. He was a father, a son, a brother, and a husband. He was a New Yorker. He was a New York
City Police Officer. And he was—he is—a
hero.

His sister, Sindy,
told me that because his dad died when he was an infant, he took on the
father-figure role for the family as he grew.
Cops who served with him said you could see that in the way he worked.

Justin, Jayden—you
got the chance to know your dad, the way he didn't get to know his. You got to
learn from him, the way he taught others.
Your aunt said your dad knew a little bit of everything, and he was
willing to let you know it. Your mom
said he was the type of man who, if he set his mind on something, he went for
it and did it. Other cops said the same
thing: he came on the job older, a family man, street smart. He knew how to
handle people, and the younger guys looked up to him.He never shirked a task and he never complained.You should be so proud of him, as we all are.

But over the last
week, you've seen that the memorials and this funeral have been about more than
just your dad. I know how strange it is. So comforting on the one hand, to have the
whole Department in mourning with you, to feel that solidarity, to know that we
will never let you be alone again, that we are your family now, just as we were
your dad's. But a burden, too, having
something so private for you be so public at the same time. Because here we
are.

We're here because
your dad was assassinated.That's a different
word than murdered, which is awful enough.
It speaks of the prominence of the person killed; it makes the crime
intentional and symbolic. Your dad was assassinated because he represented
something—and that's true, he did. He represented the
men and women of the New York City Police Department. He was the embodiment of our motto: "fidelis ad
mortem," "faithful unto death."

He represented the
blue thread that holds our city together when disorder might pull it apart. He represented the public safety that is the
foundation of our democracy. He represented the
best of our values—as anyone can see by looking at you, and at your family. But
he was also your dad. A good man, who
tried hard, and sacrificed, and had a desire to serve.

When DHL closed one
employment door, that desire led him to a new door with our School Safety
Division—where he was assigned to the Rocco Laurie Intermediate School, named
for another officer slain with his partner, Gregory Foster, nearly 43 years
ago. Like Rafael Ramos and Wenjian Liu,
these officers were killed for their color—they were killed because they were
blue. And that desire to serve led him
to enter the Police Academy at 37 years of age.

Your mom said he'd
come home pretty tired, competing with all those younger recruits. But he passed with
flying colors, wearing the gold braid for being in the top of his class. No small feat.And that desire to serve led him to study to
be a chaplain.And I'm privileged to be
able to tell you that today I'm making him a Department chaplain—a posthumous
member of that family within our family, that ministers to us in time of need.

Rafael Ramos was
assassinated because he represented all of us. Even though, beneath the
uniform, he was just a good man. And he
was just your dad. And maybe that’s our
challenge. Maybe that’s the reason for
the struggle we’re now in—as a city, as a nation. Maybe it’s because we’ve all come to see only
we represent, instead of who we are. We
don’t see each other.

The police, the
people who are angry at the police, the people who support us but want us to be
better, even a madman who assassinated two men because all he could see was two
uniforms, even though they were so much more.
We don't see each other.

If we can…If we can
learn to see each other…to see that our cops are people like Rafael Ramos and
Wenjian Liu, to see that our communities are filled with people just like them
too. If we can learn to see each other,
then when we see each other, we'll heal. We'll heal as a Department. We'll heal as a city. We'll heal as a
country. But as Ecclesiastes teaches,
there is a time to every purpose under the Heavens.

Today, it is time for
us to mourn Rafael Ramos. Today, it is time for us to remember Rafael Ramos. And in a few days, we'll be here again, in a
different place that is the same, to celebrate the life of Officer Wenjian Liu. That will be a time for sadness, too. But someday the tears will end. The memories will not. We never have and we never will forget.

Last Sunday at Saint
Patrick's, Cardinal Dolan spoke to the police.
His cathedral thundered with prayer and he asked me to tell my officers
"we love them very much, we mourn with them, we need them, we respect them
and we're proud of them and we thank them." I'm proud of them, too. And prouder of none more than Police Officers
Wenjian Liu and Rafael Ramos, both of whom I promote today to Detective First
Grade. Please let us rise
and applaud the lives of Detective First Grade Rafael Ramos and Detective First
Grade Wenjian Liu, so they can hear us in heaven.

Maritza, Justin,
Jayden, Julia, Sindy here we are today surrounded by a sea of blue. Our family
will always be with yours. We don't forget.We are here for you
and for this city.

God bless the New
York City Police Department.And God bless you and God bless
Rafael. In life he guarded the streets
of this city; in death, he guards the Heavenly Gates. Grant him rest. Grant his peace.

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